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The Transmetrical Snark
Peter Consenstein
MLN, Volume 131, Number 4, September 2016 (French Issue) , pp. 932-943
(Article)
Published by Johns Hopkins University Press
DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/mln.2016.0067
For additional information about this article
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/637369
[ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ]The Transmetrical Snark
❦
Peter Consenstein
To translate is to put a literary theory into practice. When Jacques
Roubaud translates, he is sensitive to the source text’s formal quali-
ties, which makes Lewis Carroll’s The Hunting of the Snark especially
attractive. Carroll is one of Roubaud’s “masters,” a literary figure
he emulates. Both authors are poet-mathematicians and both use
writing to refine, explain and implement theorems and paradoxes.
When contrasting Roubaud’s translation of Carroll to other French
translations, what is at stake both historically and theoretically when
translating constrained literature shows its relevance.
There are numerous translations into French of The Hunting of the
Snark, beginning chronologically with Louis Aragon who translated
this nonsensical English ballad in 1929. Henri Parisot revised his own
translation of the Snark ten times between 1940 and 1976.1 These two
are the most well-known translators of The Hunting of the Snark. Other
translators include Florence Gilliam and Guy Levis Mano (1948), Rou-
baud (1981), Bernard Hoepffner (1996), Fabrice Eberhard (1997),
François Naudin (1998), Gérard Gâcon (1999), and Matthieu Vertut
(2008). Carroll’s work attracted the Surrealist revolutionary in Aragon;
it appears in the hyperconscious performance art of Antonin Artaud—
who in fact accuses Carroll of anticipated plagiarism (Delaune)—and
in the formulations of Gilles Deleuze’s philosophical treatise Logique
du sens. What is it in the making of nonsense that attracts Roubaud
and so many others, and what is it that links Roubaud’s interest in
This article is part of “Translating Constrained Literature/Traduire la littérature à
contraintes,” a special thematic grouping in the September 2016 issue.
1
For more information and specific bibliographic addresses, see Martin Gardner’s
edition of Carroll, The Annotated Hunting of the Snark.
MLN 131 (2016): 932–943 © 2016 by Johns Hopkins University PressM LN 933 the text’s formal qualities to both the orality and the nonsense of Carroll’s ballad? Author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Jabberwocky, and Through the Looking Glass, Carroll divides his ballad The Hunting of the Snark into eight “fits.” First published in 1876, it has been viewed as a parody of, or inspired by, Samuel Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mari- ner” and “Kubla Khan” (Gâcon, Le Lait de paradis 95). Who hunts for, and what is, a Snark? In Carroll’s long poem, Snark hunters are various characters, nine in all, whose names start with the letter B: a Bellman, a Bonnet Maker, a Barrister, a Broker, a Billiard-Marker, a Banker, a Butcher, a Baker, and a Beaver. They embarked on a ship whose captain was a Bellman who navigated by tinkling his bell. In the preface, Carroll informs the reader that a “snark” is a portman- teau word (some hypothesize that it is, perhaps, a blend of the words “snake” and “shark”). But the manner in which the word is formed and the theory of its construction unveil certain underlying reasons for the ballad’s machinations. Carroll’s preface references the Humpty Dumpty theory of meaning, in which this classical Mother Goose creature, sounding much like Plato’s Cratylus, explains to Alice that a word means nothing more or less than what he chooses it to mean. A snark is an invented word meaning only what it says: it is the object of a hunt, the hunt for how meaning occurs. At the origin of Carroll’s interest in the portmanteau is the moment when a speaker attempts to say two words at once, and winds up pro- nouncing a new word. Carroll challenges the reader to say “fuming” and “furious” and not to determine which word to say first: If your thoughts incline ever so little towards “fuming,” you will say “fuming- furious;” if they turn, by even a hair’s breadth, towards “furious,” you will say “furious-fuming;” but if you have the rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say “frumious.” (xi) The portmanteau captures the essence of this nonsense poem: the making of meaning is spontaneous; speaking aloud gives forth mean- ing; in fact, it is the “perfectly balanced mind” that succeeds at creating a neologism, which could be viewed as the lexical form of creating new meaning. Hunting for a snark is thus quixotic and ephemeral, much like perfect balance and like meaning itself. The reading of the poem gives an aura of meaning where there is none. The ballad tiptoes the tightrope walk between meaning and nonsense and, for the briefest of spontaneous voicings, gives the appearance of sense. Because of this, I argue, Roubaud’s translation emphasizes the ballad’s orality. The way it is voiced is linked directly
934 PETER CONSENSTEIN to a unique manifestation of English prosody that deserves our atten- tion for how it demonstrates the potential of prosodic constraints. Carroll’s poem is made up of quatrains that abide by the rhythm of anapests, a form often reserved for limericks. An anapest, a metrical foot, is comprised of three syllables that recreate a weak-weak-strong pattern. The verses themselves follow a 4-3-4-3 stress pattern: the odd verses of the quatrains have four strong syllables (four anapests) and the even verses have three. To recite the following stanza the reader must pay attention to the four strong syllables in the first and third verses and the three strong syllables in the second and fourth, printed in bold (Fit One, stanza 7): He had for/ty-two box/es, all care/fully packed, With his name/ painted clear/ly on each: But since he/ omit/ted to men/tion the fact, They were all/ left behind/ on the beach. The anapests themselves have received attention. Linguist Joel Wal- lenberg calls Carroll’s anapests “metrical mysteries” (489) whose existence demands a “broader and more phonologically-based view of meter” (491). In fact, Wallenberg suggests that only the subtlest of metrical theories is capable of capturing the complexities of these particular anapests. His positions infer that Carroll’s anapests contain a varied pattern of syllable stresses that is in fact a modification of the traditional weak-weak-strong pattern. Although the majority of verses do adhere to the rhythm of traditional anapests, many do not, as in the case of verse three from Fit 1, stanza 7 quoted above: But since he/ omit/ted to men/tion the fact, First we see that syllables two or three can both be stressed in the first anapest, or can be almost equally stressed. Second, we see that the second foot is not an anapest at all. Wallenberg focuses part of his work on what he calls “iambic substitution.” An iamb is a two- syllable metrical foot that has a weak-strong pattern. According to Wallenberg, Carroll’s iambic substitution, in opposition to the rules that govern the use of the iamb, does “not need to occur at major syntactic boundaries”; it is “something very different from the omission of initial metrical positions in feet in iambic poetry” (491). Without entering into further detail, it is safe to say that Carroll constructed innovative verse of a high level of metrical complexity by introducing such iambs to his anapestic verses. The rhyme scheme of The Hunting of the Snark is also worthy of attention. The poem’s eight “fits” contain 141 quatrains. Each “fit”
M LN 935 contains a different number of stanzas (22, 21, 14, 18, 29, 18, 10, 9). Of the 141 quatrains in total, 112 follow an ABAB rhyme scheme and the other 29 pursue a rhyme scheme in which the odd verses have an interior rhyme, whereas the even verses rhyme with each other. Among the 29 quatrains that contain the interior rhyme in lines 1 and 3, there are six verses that have neither an interior rhyme scheme nor rhyme with any other verses in the stanza.2 The 29 stanzas in which the rhyme scheme contrasts with the ABAB pattern are found throughout the ballad; they begin at stanza 9 and are interspersed in groupings of 1 to 4 stanzas up until stanza 137, near the end of the poem. The various rhyme schemes compliment and reinforce the rhythm of this enterprise, full of neologisms and portmanteau words. When read aloud, it is entertaining and joyful and lasts about thirty minutes. The word “whimsical” often comes up when readers describe both its content and its form. How then, once the ballad’s innovative structure becomes evident, can such whimsy be translated? Aragon, for example, sees no reason to torture the target language by making it perform tricks that reflect the formal intricacies of the source text. In his essay “Lewis Carroll en 1931,” Aragon indicates his choice to replicate what he calls “la poésie vivante” that he hears in Carroll’s verses; he made the determination that “le simple mot-à-mot est plus voisin” (26) to the source text than one that relies on the traditional structures of French prosody. In her discussion of Aragon’s translation of The Hunting of the Snark as well as his philosophy of translation in general, Johanne Le Ray points out that Aragon preferred to reject French prosody and avoid a “forme de domestication” (160) that substantiated a belief in the “génie de la langue française” (163). Aragon’s goal was to import into the French language the particularities and peculiarities not only of Carroll’s writing, but also of the numerous Soviet poets he translated during the 1950s. He respected the quatrains of Carroll’s Snark, but refused to implement a rhyme scheme and adapted free verse in lieu of measured verse. Does Aragon’s free verse and “mot-à-mot” capture Carroll’s rhyth- mic “whimsy”? Does rebelling against a supposed “génie de la langue française” mean avoiding the poetic potential and flexibility of French? Aragon saw translation as a means of decentering language and an act of “désolidarisation”; according to Le Ray, his intent was to “mettre en crise, par la pratique de la traduction, la normativité de toute langue” (163–64). Therefore his approach to translation was driven 2 Stanzas 47 v.1, 48 v.3, 60 v.1, 90 v.1, 107 v.1, 119 v.1
936 PETER CONSENSTEIN by both a social consciousness and a particular ideology, but it did little to import the particular creativity of Carroll’s poetic innovations and largely avoided the whimsy residing in Carroll’s formal play. In fact, if Carroll did create a “langue vivante” thanks to his mastery of prosodic constraints, Aragon’s own agenda as a translator helped him to overlook it. Concerning the 1971 translation by Henri Parisot, Hélène Cixous wrote the following in her “Introduction” to Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There and The Hunting of the Snark: The organization of relationships, of series, the syntactical functioning, the production of meaning, the mastery of signification, the movement from designation to expression . . . can only be perceived precisely if the ear hears the beat or what makes the text beat: one should therefore as far as possible have recourse to the English text in order not to miss its effects. One of the insoluble problems that make translation in general so hazardous is this inevitable loss of all types of effect. (232) The points Cixous makes here are confounding: she suggests that one must “hear” the beat, that the reader have “recourse to the English” and that translations face “insoluble problems” when faced with “all types of effects.” She posits these conundrums, all while stating that “certain effects” have a “value . . . for which even the excellent trans- lation of Henri Parisot can inevitably not find an equivalent” (232). The Parisot translation is excellent, states Cixous, although it is not “equivalent,” and this in spite of the “insoluble problems” that, in general, all translations face. The insoluble problem of the Parisot translation is its incapacity, in Cixous’s opinion, to translate, through one manifestation of a meter or another, the value of the English beat. Parisot made clear that he was not interested in translating the beat. In discussing his translations of Carroll’s work in the L’Herne volume dedicated to Carroll that he edited, he made one perfunctory refer- ence to the structure of Carroll’s writing, commenting on the difficulty of translating rhymes from one language to another. The major focus of his translation are the “phrases à doubles sens, qui-proquos, fautes volontaires, mots-valises, calembours, etc.” (67). This attention to Car- roll’s rhetoric is valid and fruitful. But Parisot’s method of replicating Carroll’s whimsical verse structure was to construct various forms of alexandrines and to create rhyme schemes that are at times quite traditional, at times interior, and at times non-existent. The reader encounters alexandrines that “question” the rules governing the sixth syllable. For example, in these verses, the sixth syllable falls in the middle of the word (Parisot, La Chasse au Snark):
M LN 937
En maintenant ses hom//mes sur le vif de l’eau (v.3, 1er épisode)
Un Avocat, pour a//planir leurs différends (v.11, 1er épisode)
Un Castor, qui arpen//tait le pont-promenade (v.17, 1er épisode)
Il y avait un hom//me connu pour tout ce qu’ (v.21, 1er épisode)
Et les hardes acqui//ses en vue du voyage (v.24, 1er épisode)
Et pour ses adversai//res “Sacré-vieux-Crouton” (v.40, 1er épisode)
À son regard d’un sig//ne de tête impudent; (v.46, 1er épisode)
In the following verses, we find hemistiches that fall on un-accentuated
syllables:
D’étage, un marchand de// Bonnets et Capelines, (v.10, 1er épisode)
Il avait quarante//-deux malles, bien remplies, (v.25, 1er épisode)
Sur la Vie dans une// Compagnie en renom : (v.80, 1er épisode)
Et affectait une// réserve inexplicable. (v.88, 1er épisode, dernier vers)
And then we have this fun-loving quatrain in which the final syllables
of verses one and three actually combine with the first syllables of
verses two and four thanks to enjambment:
La perte de ses har//des importait peu, puisqu’
En arrivant à bord il portait sept vestons
Et trois paires de chaus//sures; mais le pis est qu’
Il avait oublié totalement son nom.
(v.29–32, 1er épisode)
These examples come from Fit the First; the rest of the poem is full
of many more. The use of enjambment brings us to Parisot’s rhyme
schemes.
In Parisot’s translation of the twenty-two stanzas of Fit the First,
nine stanzas contain only two verses that rhyme,3 six stanzas have
no rhyme pattern at all,4 and two stanzas follow a traditional ABAB
rhyme scheme.5 The remaining five stanzas display unique rhyme
3
Stanzas 4, 5, 9, 10, 11, 12, 16, 18 and 22.
4
Stanzas 1, 6, 7, 13, 14 and 21.
5
Stanzas 2 and 17.938 PETER CONSENSTEIN and repetitive syllabic patterns that succeed at reflecting the whimsi- cal rhyme patterns of the source text, but they are of a much higher frequency than in the source text. Ultimately, the translator took a certain distance from the predominance of the ABAB rhyme scheme of the original ballad. As an example, stanza twenty, one of the more unique stanzas, presents nice interior rhymes as well as alliteration: Le mieux, pour le Castor, sans nul doute, était donc D’acheter d’occasion une cotte-de-mailles, Pensait le Boulanger; et, de s’assurer Sur la Vie dans une Compagnie en renom : In his translation Parisot made efforts to adapt the semantic and formal qualities of Carroll’s work. Formally speaking, his work is inspired by, but does not capture, the systematicity of Carroll’s prosody. Roubaud presents us with a unique adaptation. In his one-page “Présentation” of his book of translation, Traduire, journal (2006), we can, in retrospect, decipher characteristics of his theory of translation. The word “journal” in the book’s title indicates that translation is part of his routine as a writer. To reinforce the longevity and continuity of his translation practice, Roubaud tells his readers that “ces poèmes datent d’il y a presque trente ans.” As well, he calls his texts “essais d’approximation de traductions de poésie” and declares that his approach to translation represents “un travail continu de confrontation à la poésie en autre langue”; they are “appropriations” (7). Transla- tion for Roubaud is part of his daily work as a writer, which indicates that the distance between writing and translating is thin; these activi- ties bleed together, as if by osmosis. We cannot expect false notions of “faithfulness” to the source text. Approximation will occur, as will conscious confrontation. When confrontation meets approximation, there is no peace and security, no resolution and no guarantee of specified outcomes. Herein lies one example of a theory of transla- tion that willfully and conscientiously confronts a text’s constraints. We are succinctly made aware of this in Roubaud’s use of the sexain in his translation of the quatrains composing Carroll’s The Hunting of the Snark. Most prominent and most distinct from the two previous translations of the Snark that I studied is not only the implementation of a sexain, but one that manifests its own particularities, including inventive and unusual rhyme schemes. Roubaud confronts Carroll’s prosody with inventiveness and his own conscious application of constraint. Within lines one, two, four and five there is one blank space dividing the line
M LN 939
whereas lines three and six are divided into three parts by two blank
spaces. This reflects how Roubaud adapts the 4/3/4/3 stress pattern
of Carroll’s verses. The stanzas are centered on the page, and use of
punctuation is very minimal: a colon here, some quotation marks,
some exclamation points. The only exception is a period closing
each stanza, which is how Carroll’s ended his stanzas. The rhythm
of Roubaud’s work, which dispenses with Carroll’s frequent commas,
is at the same time prescient and questionable. For the most part,
verses one and two as well as four and five are shorter than verses
three and six. As well, the use of blank spaces within each verse causes
trepidation: how might these affect the syllable count, and thus the
rhythm? Should each blank be held to the rules governing the end
of a verse (does the e muet count or not?) or should it be considered
as marking a simple pause? Roubaud, ever attentive to the history of
French verse, has shown a willingness to put into question the tradi-
tional rules of French versification throughout his work. These blanks
put the count of the silent e into question, which allows Roubaud to
maintain a focus on its role in French prosody without proposing a
solution other than “freeing” it.
Roubaud’s translation or adaptation of The Hunting of the Snark
maintains intricate rhymes which enhance its rhythm as well as its oral
performance. The translator proffers some instances of rhyme within
the verse, which gives prominence to the role of the blank spaces, but
for the most part plays with a variety of rhyme schemes. Here we see
how the interior rhyme works (Crise première, strophe 18):
Rhyme Count
Fortement il conseilla A 3/3
que le Boucher soit A 4/1
Transporté dans un navire séparé b/B 3/45/3
Mais l’Homme à la Cloche déclara A 4/3
que contraire serait cela A 34/4
À ses plans pour le voyage préparés. B 3/45/3
Roubaud employs a variety of rhyme schemes throughout the poem.
In his rendering of Fit the First, we find simple schemes, like this one
AABCCB (Crise première, strophe 20):940 PETER CONSENSTEIN
Rhyme Count
Il valait mieux pour le Castor A 4/4
sans aucun doute faire l’effort A 4/4
D’acquérir une cotte de mailles d’occasion B 45/4/3
Lui dit le Boulanger C 2/4
et ensuite de s’assurer C 34/4
Sur la vie dans une agence de renom. B 3/45/3
and more complex rhymes schemes, like this one (Crise première,
strophe 4):
Rhyme Count
Un Joueur de billard A 3/3
d’habileté immense B 3/2
Aurait peut-être gagné plus que sa part c/A 45/2/4
Mais un Banquier engagé c/C 4/3
avec énorme dépense B 4/2
Avait la totalité de leur argent sous sa garde ?? 7/4/3
In this stanza, there is the interior rhyme in the fourth verse, nicely
introduced by the e accent aigu in the third verse and then reinforced
with assonance in the fifth and again at the end of the word “totalité”
in the sixth. At the same time, rhyme A (aR) returns in the sixth verse
with the words “argent” and “garde” but it does not complete rhyme
A because it does not come at the end of the verse; the assonance
echoes the rhyme. Read aloud, the rhymes of Roubaud’s stanza make
for a satisfying, compelling, and attractive recitation. It is not a replica
of Carroll’s anapests or rhyme schemes but a clever, concrete adapta-
tion that emphasizes the oral, which is essential to Carroll’s “hunt”
for how meaning occurs, inherent in the nonsense.
By practicing constraints that he appropriated from Carroll’s inven-
tive English prosody, Roubaud succeeds, I contend, at communicating
better than Parisot or Aragon the “beat” and orality of The Hunting
of the Snark to which Cixous alluded. The value that beat and orality
add to the French translation can be compared to the map that the
Bellman used to navigate the seas, the well-known image of an empty
rectangle surrounded by words such as “zenith,” “nadir,” and “equi-
nox.” The map is blank without landmarks, other than the cardinal
points named outside its perimeter, and includes a meaningless scale
for “measuring” distance.6 The accentuated syllables are in bold in the
See Holiday.
6M LN 941 FIgure 1.
942 PETER CONSENSTEIN verses quoted below the Bellman’s “Ocean Chart,” which of course is a “perfect and absolute blank”: “What’s the good of Mercator’s North Poles and Equators, Tropics, Zones and Meridian Lines?” So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply “They are merely conventional signs! “Other maps are such shapes, with their islands and capes! But we’ve got our brave Captain to thank” (So the crew would protest) “that he’s brought us the best— A perfect and absolute blank!” A blank is white space which, when introduced into the field of vision, provides a new means of seeing the object represented. A blank rep- resents negative space as well as an invitation to creation, to creativ- ity, which is an outcome and manifestation of the implementation of constraints. The map that Carroll provides for the snark hunters makes possible an entirely new cartography. It is “nonsense,” and at the same time it is the map of the Hunting of the Snark; it is how these hunters navigate. Making a frame (the map) while keeping it empty is meaningful. Constructing a novel French prosody inspired by English prosody is akin to making such a frame. But does prosody itself make meaning? Roubaud’s transmetrical snark suggests that the answer is a resounding “yes”: the ability of a language to say and mean something, anything, is supported by prosody. Prosody not only structures, over millennia, the language of poetry (which is none other than the memory of language, according to Roubaud),7 but is also an essential element of making spoken language comprehensible: the prosody of poetry records, in abstract fashion and in one form or another, language in everyday usage. We learn from this case of the translation of constrained literature just how much meaning, or the appearance of meaning, the constraint conveys. Borough of Manhattan Community College; CUNY Graduate Center 7 In Poésie, etcetera : ménage Roubaud writes: “La poésie a besoin de tout le langage ordinaire (il ne doit pas lui être interdit: ni dans le vocabulaire, ni dans la syntaxe, ni dans les registres de langue: orale, écrite, populaire savante,…). Mais elle a aussi droit à toute la langue (pas d’interdit aristocratique, pas d’interdit populiste). Étant mémoire de la langue, la poésie est prémonitoire du futur de la langue” (112-13). Roubaud initially wrote about the relationship between poetry and memory in the article “Quelques thèses sur la poétique” (1970). Roubaud a écrit également “la poésie est mémoire de la langue” dans “Le silence de la mathématique jusqu’au fond de la langue, poésie”, Po&sie (10: 1979, 110).
M LN 943
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